Monday

This I know for sure: tomorrow the kids will not go to school. Tomorrow there will be statewide closures. Tomorrow we may lose electricity and internet. We have been warned: tomorrow we're getting our big snowstorm of the season.

And today? Today I'm thinking about sports. You may love watching them. Me, not so much the watching, but I've always had a love for doing sports recreationally. Ever since I was a kid, I'd want to give any and every sport a try. Early childhood was limited for me to biking in the Polish village where I spent my summers, and winter skating in the city. With a very occasional ski episode thrown in. Then came the real sampling. At the university in Warsaw, my friends and I plunged into skiing. Of the kind where you side step your way up the hill and go down and then repeat that for maybe 100 times. (Not much by way of ski lifts in postwar Poland). When I moved to the US at age 19,  I reveled in the skiing possibilities that were suddenly before me.  East coast, west coast, Europe -- I loved all mountains everywhere. But, by mid twenties, I was settled into a married life with a guy who hated the cold and, too, we lived in the Midwest and none of our friends skied and we had no money for it anyway, so there closed that door. Were there other sports? In grade school in NY I was a good basketball player, but then I moved back to Poland and no one was playing basketball -- they were all keen volley ball players. I had to hustle to learn and honestly, I never caught up to the good players. Ed got me going on tennis, but I was nearly a senior then, so again, I'd say that no advanced tennis player would ever ask me to be on their team. 

The point is, that to be good at a sport, it's best to start young and to keep at it. Therefore, despite the fact that I was a so called "tomboy" growing up, very athletic, very in love with the great outdoors, all that moving between Poland and the US, all those changes of friends, of geographical spaces, of cultures meant that I never stayed with anything for long and thus I became excellent at none of it.

But is this so awful? One could argue that being a little good at many things is better than being a lot good at just one, or two. Dabbling -- my specialty! -- allows you to sample a culture, even if you are never quite a member of the select club of experts. You can feel comfortable in many homes. You don't feel lost and out of place. You've tried it. You know the basics. I could pass around a volley ball if pushed to do so. Or dribble a basketball, or swat a tennis ball. I could certainly whizz down a ski slope at dizzying speeds, even if my technique is on the side of wild rather than refined.

You could say that I'm at peace with my very many imperfections!

All this is in my head because today my daughter asked me to deliver Snowdrop for her first evening class of volley ball. 

To date, Snowdrop has had lessons in tennis (meh....), skating (me as coach; she loves it, but doesn't do it enough to be really good), softball (loves it, but there are friends who play, so that may be the motivating factor), swimming (coached by me, infrequently, so she isn't nearly as good as her swimming friends), soccer (double meh...), and now this -- volley ball. A distant friend does it and so she wanted to join her. I'm thinking she's on track to imitate me: many things, but none of them have really sucked her in big time. And that's okay, though I'm hoping that something will draw her in so that she will rise to a level where she can say -- I'm good because I've been doing this forever, since I was a kid...

This is all evening stuff. I do have a morning and an afternoon and they're both busy. The usual...

And the less usual for this day: breakfast with my friend who is having the kind of life's worries most of us do not ever have to face. All I can do is listen and balance our meetups with more lighthearted stories which perhaps is a good distraction, but maybe, too, a little too trite and trivial considering what she is facing. 

Then (after all my luggage deliberations!) I return my new suitcase (too small). And pick up Snowdrop. 

Here is the issue: her mom and I have been trying to coax her into a haircut. I've said to her that not a single child in her school has hair as long as hers, thinking that perhaps peer comparisons will sway her. Her hair is so difficult to manage, and made more difficult by the fact that she hates tying it back. But, she wanted to grow it out ("all the way to my butt!") and no one wants to be firm about something that is seemingly so important for her. Until this December, when, armed with parental support, I finally told her that at some point, she has to get it cut. Not until after my birthday! -- was her reply. So I made an appointment. For today.

I have a lifetime of trying to be firm with the kids, at the same time that I know I'm a terrible pushover and they can pretty much talk me into anything reasonable. So leaving me with a girl who does not want that hair cut was doomed from the get-go. Indeed, she got it trimmed by three inches (according to her, by a whole foot!), but it will make little difference. It is still very long. And it still will hang down and get tangled and not stay out of her face. Bottom line -- she's unhappy about the shortness of it and I'm unhappy about my own failure to accomplish what I set out to do -- get it to a reasonable length.

Back to the farmhouse now.

Snowdrop has had quite the ride in the past few weeks -- the never ending holiday celebrations, the birthday stuff -- all great highs. I do think she needs some recovery time and today we try to do stuff slowly. To read, to eat well, to go easy on life.

And at 6, I take her to her volleyball lesson. (Pony tail needed for that one!)

 

 

 

I have no idea how that went. I did not stick around to watch. May she find joy in that game, in some game, in being with friends, in feeling herself grow competent at many, many things.

Me, I go back and reheat some soup for us. It's been a long day!

with love...

Sunday

The calm before the storm. Ha! Be careful what you wish for -- we may get walloped by snow twice over this week! If there is one time I do not want a snow event it's this week, toward the end of it, when I'm supposed to be traveling. Ah, January. It's never boring, although some would argue that it's awfully long. Indeed, I keep thinking we're halfway through it and we're still on the first week. 

So we wait for see what happens next. Blizzard? School closures? Or, as sometimes happens, will it all blow over and fizzle to a few flakes? In the meantime, there is that stillness that so often preceded big weather events.

(red combs on hens, red chair)

Ed is late for breakfast. Meaning, all is ready and then he gets a phone call. The cat and I are patient, but only so much. The coffee has to be hot or else the hygge elements are lost. (What we play to keep ourselves happy in the winter!)

Okay, we're all at the table now and the subject of discussion is cats. There was a brawl outside and the newest interloper here -- Pancake -- got beaten up by one of the pack from the shed. At least this is Ed's reconstruction of events that took place outside at 4 a.m. It was loud enough that he went to investigate. His presence broke things up quickly enough, but we can tell that Pancake is scuffed up a bit. We're hoping that the territorial order is set for a while. I truly dislike these animals squabbles even as I understand that this is how they sort things out among themselves.

 

Unexpectedly, I have a free day today as the young family is otherwise occupied tonight. This is on balance good: I have much to take care of at home and, too, Ed coaxes us out for a walk in the afternoon -- so needed after all that couch sitting! Everything about our walks is always grand... Even the views from the car coming and going.

And still, I keep checking the weather. Storm number one -- Tuesday. Storm number two -- maybe Friday. Oh, the excitement of this season! 

What we need (for supper) is a big pot of hot soup. I'm on it!

with love.

snow day party day

It's pretty, it's unexpected, it's wet, there's not much of it. The cats hate it anyway.

We wake up to a gentle cover of snow.

Oh, the possibilities that snow offers! Can we ski? Can we play? Can we stay inside and just admire the loveliness of a white landscape?

I have to say that the push-pull here is tremendous. On the one hand, a deep snow would unquestionably lure us outside to ski. We haven't done it since last winter and we're both itching to be out there gliding again. Me with my new knee! (So I better not tumble because I'm not quite sure if getting up will be as easy as it was before.) But when we step out, the snow feels too clumpy, the cover -- insufficient. So, should we go for a hike in the forest? When the warm house feels so toasty pleasant and there is all that good reading before us? And trip planning and spring plant searching?

We go. Getting out of the winter lazies is a huge challenge for us and if we indulge those lazies on a day that's actually quite pretty, well then we're doomed!

And in fact, we love the quiet of the forest on a snowy day! All of it is fabulous! Why do we always hesitate?!

But by early afternoon I have to scoot off to the Human Society. Snowdrop is having her friend birthday party there and I'm not only the photographer for the event, but, too, the ice cream cake that we purchased yesterday is in my freezer. And I'm eager to see the girl herself: she got the gift she really wanted today -- pierced ears!

There are a lot of lively third-graders at the party and it really is great to put faces to at least some of the names I hear about after a day in school. They are a solid, fun bunch. And her two brothers. Who are at once able to fit right in, and then at other times, a little on their own. 

The Humane Society is a beloved place for Snowdrop -- she is your typical animal lover -- and she was thrilled that they actually offered a party venue for kids. It's a structured program where they learn about some of the animal care there, they make toys for cats, then they visit and view the pets for adoption and finally -- and perhaps this is the best part, aside from the cake -- they get to pet hamsters and rats, and hold a snake. 

Fun, right? 

(Sparrow passes on the holding/petting of rodents and reptiles, but Sandpiper has no reservations...)

Happy Birthday, dear Snowdrop, happy birthday to you!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dinner at home is very late. If Ed and I felt lazy about the hike, we surely succumbed to the super lazies by evening time. Eventually I scrambled some eggs. And threw some mushrooms and asparagus into the oven. That's it. I'll get my motivation rolling again. Tomorrow. Maybe.

And there you have it! A beautiful winter Saturday. I hope you had a fine one as well!

Friday, the 5th

Are you awake? This from Ed. Early. Like way before dawn. He wants to show me what the person he hired in Argentina, a woman who is an origami expert, came up with in terms of shape folding. (He's been working on ways to cut and fold sheet metal to needed specifications and he decided he could use some artistic expertise.) She charges $10 an hour and she came up with not one but four ways to create the shape we need!

It is impressive how much you can collaborate with persons in remote corners of the world on various projects. Still, it is also very early in the morning. And now the cats are up and the house is no longer in slumber mode.

I go outside. It's icy cold, but not as cold as it will be by the middle of the month. And that cold is much needed! You skip the deep freeze one year and bugs that should not survive here in Wisconsin ravage the summer landscape. We depend on our super cold weather. My one gripe this year is that we haven't the snow to make it a fun kind of cold.

Breakfast. 

And now I am busy, extremely busy because to you it may be Friday, but to one of my grandchildren it is the 5th! Snowdrop turns 9 today. So I have to bake a cake, per her specification: it must be chocolate, with chocolate frosting, but not only. She requested dabs of lemon frosting decoration and candied violets throughout. It's actually sweet that she remembers bits of this fancy work that I'd brought to cakes in the past. I get to work.

Too, they're all coming here for a dinner celebration. (Her instructions: crunchy chicken and spaghetti pasta and roasted asparagus with lemon, no, maybe corn after all, please!) And of course, I need to pick them up at school, and, too, we have a balloon errand to run and my daughter to pick up, oh, and an ice cream cake to buy for tomorrow's party -- I tell you, it's a busy set of hours!

 (pick up)

 

(paper/balloon store)

(ice cream and ice cream cakes)

at the farmhouse

(Sandpiper comes!)

(dinner!)

(the cake)

(with mommy)

Amazing girl! Smiled all day long! Happy happy day indeed!

With so much love...

Thursday

You wont believe what is going through my head: I am suddenly immersed in thoughts about growing flowers.

It's January! Everyone knows that this is when you put together the outline of your spring garden. This is when you case out nurseries (online) to see what their stock is like. It's when you think about structural changes to your flower beds. There's no better time for it, especially if you live in Wisconsin and you're totally bummed by the cold, gray, snowless winter outside.

(the sun on my morning walk again lasts only for a few minutes...)

(I drive to the bakery to restock on croissants (for everyone) and cookies (for Sparrow and Ed). The lake is still completely unfrozen! It's cold, but there have been warmer days as well. Last year we were bouncing around on the ice already. We'd put in several days on skis. This year? Cold but without the good stuff!)

(happy to be back here!)

I've messed around with plants inside for a few weeks now. I have four pots of forced bulbs going right now, one which I brought to the breakfast table today.

They're lovely but fleeting. Still, I'm learning how to grow these in a house that hasn't the requisite temperatures (they need cooler air or else they topple), nor the needed hours of sunlight (we have some, but not enough).

So I hit the catalogues, just to look, to consider, to think about the next season that is if not around the corner, then pretty darn close anyway!

And in the afternoon I am back to picking up the two older kids at school.

We had good routines going before winter break and I imagined (not incorrectly) that we would need a little while to click back into that rhythm. Still, the kids surprise me: within an hour we are back on track, everyone happy, in their groove, moving splendidly through the afternoon.

Evening: only now does it feel like December is behind us and we have moved forward. Kid pick up at school, me cutting up fruits for their afternoon snack, reading that heart wrenching book about the evacuated children of London during World War II (where did we leave off? no, gaga, we read that chapter! next one! And from Sparrow - gaga, your voice sounds better, but it's still a little weird...), cranking up the heat, letting the terrified cats out (the children are back? run for your life!!)... All normal, all as before, even though it's 2024.

Wednesday

How easy it is to lose track of the days of the week when there isn't a school or work schedule before you! Is it Wednesday? Does it matter? For me, what stands out is that I have a free day -- the absolutely last one for the next three weeks! -- and I'm still pulling myself out of the flu that struck me right after the holidays. I am almost back to normal, but of course, I've not moved much and that physical lethargy is starting to feel stiffening! Once the sun comes out, I'll head out. For now? When it's cold and gray? My big outings for today are an early walk to the barn, and a trip to the grocery store.

We eat a staggered breakfast: first me, alone, because I'm sure Ed wont wind down his Zoom call anytime soon...

... and then he does come down, and I do sit with him, just because he's giddy with excitement over his project and though I am a poor audience for his enthusiastic explanations of all that he has managed to accomplish in just in the last few days (I understand so little of it!), nonetheless I am an audience and he'll settle for me over staying silent and keeping it all in his head.

After the grocery run, I settle in to read. About eating. No, not the type where you look forward to preparing a meal for the family. Eating, or more accurately not eating, as a result of severe mental health issues. (A very good article about this appeared in the NYTimes today.) 

I don't know many women my age who have never once thought themselves to be chained to the ups and downs of eating, and overeating, and worrying about eating. At this time of the year, the resolutions about "eating" resound all around me. As if all of humanity (that part which isn't starving in war torn or drought ravaged regions of this world) wants nothing more than the impossible: exercise more, eat less. The article isn't really about the likes of us, it's about people who have serious and life threatening eating disorders, and yet it really had me look back on my own youth and young adult years and wonder why I, too, was pushed down that road of worrying constantly about food and overeating. (And all that worry got me right where I did not want to be: I gained a lot of weight when I moved to the US at age 19.) 

It's no secret that I love to eat. A yeasty bread or a croissant, with a milky coffee -- these are heaven on earth to me. A runny cheese with crusty bread -- mmmm. At the same time I was raised in the era of everyone commenting on a woman's "good figure." At home, among friends -- everyone. Growing up, the message was clear: I should aim to have a good figure. Good legs too. As if I could walk into a shop and exchange anything that I was born with for something more attractive to the passerby. In response, once I moved to my own apartment, my dinner would often consist of a carton of ice cream with goopy caramel inside.

Now, at 70, I worry not at all about such stuff as a "good figure", except as it pertains to my health. I mean, I stopped coloring my hair because Ed thought it was silly. I never "get my nails done." Yet I can't shake those thoughts about food and how strong the push was and is to limit our intake. I get why we should eat healthily, but the conversation too often is loudest about how food impacts our appearance. Why do we allow ourselves to be so chained to that discourse?

And with that in my mind, I heat up the last of the chili, make a salad, and take out the box of chocolates that I'm working through in the New Year. Here's hoping that we learn from decades of mistakes in our conversations about food, about eating, and learn to love the healthy, and not fault ourselves for the inevitable unhealthy lapses. I haven't exercised for five days, I've eaten nothing but sweet breads and cookies for lunch for weeks now. I will survive.

with love...

twenty

I

Twenty years ago today I wrote my first Ocean post. I had little idea where this was heading, how long I'd stay with it, what content would fill these pages. I did make one promise to myself: that I would try to find the time, the ideas, the internet to write something not entirely stupid, and not ever harmful, every day. 

And so Ocean was born.

I take this date as a time to think about the year ahead for Ocean. I am deeply aware, of course, that Ocean can affect the people that are referenced in it, as well as those who read it with more than a passing interest. Writing with great care is always at the forefront, but I have to admit that I have the ambition to go beyond just "doing no harm." I want so much to smooth some paths, to bring smiles (even though, as I have said time and again, I am, unfortunately, not funny!), to prompt good thoughts for those who start their day reading Ocean posts. And if that sounds puffed up and pontifical (who am I to want to make your day better?!), yes, I agree. Being positive and attempting to lay out a good, thoughtful framework for each day does smack of some conceit, but hey, isn't it a heck of a lot better than pounding away at a negative text?

And maybe there's some good that comes from reading someone who truly does believe that each day is singularly quirky and ridiculous and banal but beautiful nonetheless. Maybe. At the very least though, Ocean is a record of moving between stages in life. I began when I was fifty. I'm not fifty anymore! But here's an important caveat: observing, recording, taking note -- these are not the same as giving advice! I know too well the horror of a constant trickle of "words of wisdom," usually coming from those who have no idea what your life is like. What pain and what trauma and what insecurity you are dealing with. I will never presume that my days make sense for anyone but me. Your smile, if it comes, will come from finding something sweet or ridiculous in my story, nothing more than that. Your life is your own and I wish I knew more about it, because I love learning about what makes others tick, but I steer clear from suggesting that I have any wisdom to offer you on how to lead it, how to age, how to be a grandparent, or a partner to someone with whom you have nothing in common! 

 

II

And now to get on with the day. Which starts early. Ed gets a 5 a.m. call from Denmark (it's all about machines!) and we are off and running.

Good morning, farmette lands! Good morning wisps of sunshine (that stayed with us for all of maybe half an hour)!

Good morning, Unfriendly Snowflake! Thanks for joining us for breakfast! 

 

III

In the afternoon, I do a lot of reading. Progress on a very dumb novel, but one I need to finish for who knows what reason. A few chapters on a city I'll be visiting early this year. Two articles, roughly about ancestry, and here is where I will pause. Because it is related to a question that a daughter asked while we were all at the table enjoying my son-in-law's cooking of a "Very Estonian Christmas Dinner." She asked, not accusingly, but knowing well the answer -- and what Polish foods have you brought to the table for the holidays? Of course, the answer is "none" or you would have heard about it here, on Ocean.

But why? Polish cooking is rich with tradition and I have several Polish cookbooks to prove it. And my friends always talk about it. They show off photos of their own Easter cakes. They hunt down the best herring for Eve dinners. Each one, I'm sure, has a favorite recipe for Bigos (a sauerkraut and sausage stew that every Pole knows and loves), and, well, you all know about pierogi (Polish dumplings, for the uninitiated).

The thing is, I swear my daughters were born with American taste buds. They've subsequently expanded and at the moment one loves Scandinavian, the other loves Italian, but Polish? I just couldn't see it. And convincing their dad that stuffed cabbage rolls were actually delicious would have been a challenge. In family life, I often steered us toward minimal disagreement around the dinner table. (I'm not saying this was a good strategy on my part, but it is a fact.)

I suppose in part, I am a product of a mixed-up family myself.  No one at home cooked Polish foods. (Read about it in Like a Swallow if you want to know why.) My grandma did, but I never believed her foods would fare well on this side of the ocean. Central European bland. Not flashy. Wholesome, but low on the wow factor. (Though I, of course, loved it all. I was a kid, she was my kitchen hero.)

Is it too late? Or let me phrase it this way -- how much of my Polishness do I still want to bring to the table? To my own family? I have a rather erratic relationship to my country of birth, which perhaps is a function of my lifetime of comings and goings there and back. True, I would give a lot now for authentic baked goods that I once purchased at fantastic Polish bakeries -- poppy seed cake, Polish doughnuts, Polish cheesecake. None of these can be found here. But I'm afraid I am alone in my love for all that. Ed is wedded to his own strange baked items and probably would pass on picking poppy seeds out of his teeth all day long after eating something densely packed with moist dark seeds. Ask him about favorite childhood desserts and he'll tell you about rainbow cookies and Hostess stuff from the grocery store. Like their apple pockets or cupcakes. Do you see what I am up against??

Food culture, like freshly baked stuff, doesn't necessarily travel well. I remember after taking my younger daughter to Poland, she proclaimed that she really loved the Polish babeczki waniljowe. Tiny little bundt-like cakes with vanilla custard. On my next trip to Poland I bought a bunch to bring back for her. They crumbled in the suitcase. 

I'm thinking it's time for me to go back to Poland. Before I grow too old to want to run around bakeries, and pick out old coffee shops for long visits with friends. Or invite myself over to a home for a good piece of Polish cheesecake (I'm thinking of yours, Bee!). Maybe this year, maybe next. I'm thinking about it.

With love...

 

New Year's Day

And a happy New Year's Day to you! 

Yes, I slept through it all. The fireworks (were there any in our rural community?), the cheering, the TV rendition of time moving forward from one year to the next. A few minutes after midnight, my phone showed me kids, ages nearly 9, 5 and 2 jumping up and down exuberantly on a parental bed. Their joy was palpable! So I began my new year with a smile, then a burrow under the quilt and a return to sleep.

I have before me three days of downtime, which is good, because I need to shape up after the annoying virus knocked some of the oomph out of me in the last days of December. (Oh that cough! It's got to go!)

In this next decade of my life, I'm starting the new year with no resolutions. At 70, you're allowed to skip over that tradition. It's not that you can't improve, but resolving to do so only once a year seems like the wrong approach for those of us who haven't a ton of January firsts before them. An effort to improve is now part of the everyday. It feels better that way in any case. Incremental efforts. Small steps. Greater likelihood of success!

Nonetheless, I did like reading today about an energy challenge you might set for yourself today, this year, whenever. The author suggests that you concentrate on five science-backed ingredients for boosting your energy: rest, exercise, socializing, eating, and finding enjoyment in your daily tasks (the NYTimes). And I did take the fitness test suggested by the WashPost, also in today's paper, for those who haven't a clue as to their level of fitness. That newspaper wont let you link to their articles, but in case you're curious, you can test yourself simply by counting the number of unassisted standups from a chair you can do in 30 seconds (senior target: a dozen), by the number of seconds you can stand on one foot (senior target 90), and by the number of seconds you can hang (senior target 30 secs). And then, when you've patted yourself on the back for being so magnificently fit, the writers tell you that you could always stand to improve, and here are a few suggestions on how to do it!

Always the preaching out there, waiting to hit you in the gut.

Continuing in this vein of health and well being, I then read the article (back to the NYTimes for this one) titled: A Hopeful Reminder: You're Going to Die. The upshot there is that if we faced our own mortality squarely and on a regular basis, we'd lead better, fuller lives, understanding on a daily basis what counts, and taking heroic plunges, rather than safe steps, as we move from one year to the next. 

Yes, "heroes" does sound much better than merely mindless consumers of creature comforts in life, nonetheless, I had some issues with the general premise and how it plays out in life. Facing the terror of your own mortality is an entirely different ballgame at age 10, 30, 50 or 70. And if you have kids, it gets even more complicated, as your worries are for yourself and for them. Sure, in the cosmic scheme of things, age should not make a difference, as we are all merely specs on a "rock hurtling through the unfeeling infinity of dark matter,"  but tell that to the parent whose entire soul is enmeshed with the love she feels for her young ones. Death is more than just a random swat -- me today, you tomorrow. It's a bulldozing of all the heroic acts you do for your young ones. Thank you, but I'd prefer to postpone that until I'm past, well, maybe 70! Before that, terror is not your friend, nor your vehicle to a more heroic life. [And a note here: I write about kids being your foci, but of course, it could be something or someone else, beloved, adored, whose happiness is so totally dependent on you surviving the year.] 

These are my morning thoughts. The day is rather cold, rather gray, the promised sunshine never came through the thick cloud cover. The animals were fed...

And yes, Ed and I sat down to breakfast together. Panettone cake! I love it, Ed -- less so, but he's not a big breakfast eater so at least once a year, I choose this delicious Italian treat for our morning table and what better day for it than... right now!

Afternoon? Well, a long email from Poland makes me smile, and a longer Zoom call with my Warsaw BFF is beyond rich. True, my voice is still not strong and Ed has noted that my cough is not exactly helpful as he tries to concentrate on the details of his machine design project, but he says this lightly and with compassion! My kind of guy! The essence of this day is just beautiful. What more could you ask for!